


In the Wake of Her Death

by Etaleah



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Mother-Son Relationship, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Canon, Terminal Illnesses, Unhealthy Relationships, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: The illness of a wife and mother has a tremendous impact on any family, but for the men of Gondor, it set the course for their relationships with each other for the rest of their lives.





	1. It's a Boy

It seemed to Finduilas that it had never taken her husband this long to complete his daily tasks, but considering the gravity of what she had to tell him, it could have just been her imagination. Whatever the case, she could barely keep still as she sat in their chambers on the bed they shared, waiting. It was rare indeed that her husband smiled, and she thought this might be the thing that could make him happy. It had certainly given her joy beyond measure.

She waited and waited, counting the minutes, until finally he stepped through the doors and they were alone. She jumped off the bed and met his embrace.

"I have news for you," she said, trying to remain calm, but her smile would not be stilled.

"Yes?" Denethor took her in his arms and kissed her. "What is it?"

Finduilas took a deep breath and rested her hand on her stomach. "I am with child!" Her smile grew, but quickly faded when she saw that Denethor was not looking as joyful as she had imagined.

"Are you not glad?" she asked, puzzled. The last time she had told him this news, he had whooped and hollered for joy and swung her around in his arms.

Denethor shrugged. "Well, we already have a fine son. We don't really require another child. And I am a bit concerned that you're not as young as you once were…" He stopped when he saw how crushed she looked. Tears stood in her eyes and he quickly pulled her into a hug. "Still, this is indeed a blessing."

Finduilas laid her head on his shoulder and he stroked her long hair, the hair that he deeply loved. "I dearly hope this one is a girl," he said. "A girl as beautiful as you are, one we can name after you."

"That would be lovely, to be sure, but above all I hope that the child is healthy," Finduilas said. "And that Boromir will be a worthy big brother."

"Yes," Denethor said, gazing out into space. "A big brother and a little sister…"

* * *

One of the qualities of Denethor that sometimes frightened Finduilas was that once he got an idea into his head, there was no changing his mind. For example, he was convinced that Boromir would eventually become the greatest archer in all of Gondor (which he certainly would not; Finduilas had seen him with a bow and she knew for a fact that he was far better suited to the sword) and would not be told otherwise no matter who it was that did the telling. So it was with this new baby. Denethor seemed to like the idea of having a daughter so much that he refused to acknowledge any other possibility.

"Our own little Finduilas," he said happily. "A son and a daughter. It's the perfect balance, one that will complete our family beautifully."

"Our family will be complete whether the baby is a daughter or a son," Finduilas said, rubbing her bump. This baby wasn't quite as restless as Boromir had been, but it could still surprise her at times.

Denethor dismissed her words as nonsense. "We'll have our own little girl, one that you can teach all the fine arts of weaving and embroidery. Our seamstresses can enjoy stitching the finest dresses and gowns." He sighed. "Our own beautiful little girl," he said again.

Finduilas didn't bother wasting her breath trying to remind him that only fate could determine whether they would have a daughter. She held her tongue when Denethor ordered the tower seamstresses to make baby girl clothes and blankets. He told Boromir to expect a little sister, which he seemed excited about, to Finduilas's delight.

"When will she be born?" he asked, putting his hands on his mother's tummy.

"Soon," she said, and winced. "Very soon." She rubbed a hard spot, probably the baby's head, and smiled. "Can I trust that you will be a good big brother?"

"Of course!" Boromir said. "I can't wait to be a big brother." All of his friends had siblings and Boromir had begun to feel sad that he was the only one who didn't. "I'll watch out for her and protect her and won't let anything happen to her."

"That's my good lad," Finduilas said sweetly, and kissed the top of his head. "Now come give your mother a hug before your lesson."

Boromir embraced her tightly and kissed her cheek, but made a face as he pulled away. "I hope my sister is born soon, Mother. She's taking up all the room in your lap."

* * *

Denethor paced the floor of the hall, muttering to himself and wringing his hands. "Too early," he said over and over. "Much too early." He was so nervous and out of sorts he'd even snapped at Boromir when the lad complained that he was tired of waiting. He felt he had never wanted anything so badly as to be in the birthing room with his wife, but both she and the healers had insisted that he would be of no use until the child was born and that it was better for the midwives not to have anyone in their way.

"Is Mother okay?" Boromir asked, fidgeting in his chair. He had been excused from all of his lessons for today and, like Denethor, had nothing to do but wait. He bit his lip. "Is she hurting?"

"She is experiencing the pain of childbirth," Denethor said, and it sounded to Boromir like he was in a trance. "But she came out of it once with you, so she will surely be all right the second time." Still, he vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure that there would be no more children after this one. Finduilas was well past the age where it was safe for a woman to bear a child.

"You will have to be very quiet and careful when we see her," Denethor said to Boromir. "Do you understand? She will need rest, and so will your sister."

"Yes, Father," Boromir said, nodding gravely. He steeled himself for the worst. He was a big lad now, a big brother. He had to be brave.

After what seemed like hours, the healer appeared. When she did not smile and immediately invite them into the room, Denethor began to panic. "What has happened? Are my wife and daughter all right?"

The healer hesitated. "Your wife is recovering. As you know, the baby was not expected for another month. There was…more blood than we expected." Denethor's lip quivered and his face paled. The healer quickly added, "She seems to be all right for now, but we are keeping a close eye on her. She will need to stay in bed for at least a few days, maybe longer."

"But she lives?" Denethor pressed.

At last the healer smiled. "Yes, my lord, she lives. And your child is beautiful."

"Then I will go to her at once. Come, Boromir!" His son hopped down from his chair and rushed to Denethor's side. "The time has come at last for us to meet your sister."

The healer held up her hand. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but your child is a-" But Denethor had already led Boromir into the birthing room and shut the door. As promised, the lad was very quiet and both he and his father approached the bed slowly. Finduilas was pale and lying back against the covers, looking utterly spent, but she was smiling and holding a bundle that was making anxious little cries.

"Shh," she whispered soothingly. "Hush, little one." She looked up and Denethor thought she had never been more beautiful. "Meet your father and brother."

"Is this my sister?" Boromir asked, standing by his mother's bedside and peering at the bundle curiously.

Finduilas shook her head. "I'm afraid you have no sister, Boromir. Instead you have a brother."

"A brother?" Boromir's face lit up completely. "That's even better! I can't believe it, a brother!" He noticed the healer giving him a sharp glare and he lowered his voice. "Can I hold him?"

Finduilas hesitated; her five-year-old was not the most careful child she had ever met. "Only if you promise that you will be very gentle and not drop him. And you must support his head with your arm."

Boromir nodded solemnly. "I promise, Mother." She handed the baby to his brother and was relieved when Boromir handled him slowly and carefully. She smiled and turned to her husband, whose expression remained shocked.

"What is it?" she asked him, her heart sinking. She knew he'd be surprised that his prediction hadn't come true, but she didn't think he'd be upset over it.

"It's not a daughter," Denethor said dumbly. "Our little girl is not a little girl."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Finduilas assured him. "I'm not disappointed in the slightest." She gestured to the bundle in Boromir's arms. "Look at him. Hold him yourself and tell me he is not a beautiful child. And healthy too, bless him."

Denethor peeked over Boromir's shoulder. The lad offered the baby to his father, but Denethor shook his head. He barely spared a glance before turning back to Finduilas. "We cannot pass on your name now."

"He can have a name that sounds similar," Finduilas said. "And in these past few moments I thought of one. I love the name Faramir."

"Oh, I like it!" Boromir said. "It sounds like my name too."

Denethor gave a slight nod. "All right. Faramir then."

"Faramir of Gondor," Boromir said, trying out the name as he passed his baby brother back to Finduilas. "I think I love him already."

Finduilas kissed the top of her son's head and smiled down at Faramir. "He looks just like you did when you were born."

"Not so much," Denethor said. "Boromir was bigger." Finduilas gave him a look but continued soothing her newborn.

"When will you get your lap back, Mother?" Boromir asked, studying her stomach in confusion. "I thought you would go back to normal once the baby was born. And how much longer must you stay in bed?"

Finduilas smiled weakly. "I shall probably have my lap back within the next week if I am lucky, but I do not know how much longer I will be in bed." She closed her eyes and Denethor drew his son to him.

"We will leave you to rest," he said. "I shall call the healer to relieve you of the child."

"Mother?" Boromir said worriedly.

Finduilas stroked Faramir's hair, which was quite thick for a newborn. A frown crossed her face at the way Denethor said "the child," as if Faramir didn't even belong to him. But she tried to put that aside upon hearing Boromir's voice.

"I'll be all right, sweetheart," she said. "I'm sure I won't be bedridden for long."


	2. Love

Faramir had just turned five, and still Finduilas was bedridden. The three of them tiptoed around her, afraid to speak to her for too long or make too much noise, lest they disturb her rest. Faramir knew only that Mother never felt well, Boromir knew that giving birth at thirty-three hadn't been healthy for her and that she'd never quite recovered, but only Denethor knew that she was dying.

And that knowledge was destroying him.

Suddenly Denethor could find no interest in anything. He let his responsibilities slide. He stopped attending Boromir's training and lessons and always refused whenever his son asked him to play. He alternated between avoiding his wife altogether, insisting that seeing her in this weakened state was too painful, and spending every minute at her side for fear he might not be there when she passed and that she would die alone.

As for Faramir, he barely existed, a fact that puzzled and hurt both of the Steward's sons. Boromir was intent on honoring his poor mother's wishes and spent as much time with his little brother as possible. He helped Faramir take his first steps, play his first game of catch, and every day as soon as he finished his lessons he headed for the nursery where Faramir was looked after by palace officials and nursemaids, something the little lad always looked forward to.

This day was no exception. Boromir had scarcely stepped through the door of the nursery when Faramir raced toward him with his arms outstretched. "He's here!" he cried.

"Hello, little brother," Boromir said, and smiled as he picked him up. He did that often, partly because he considered it good exercise for his upper muscles and partly because no one else would. Whenever Faramir held out his arms out to Denethor, their father would merely say, "Is there some reason you cannot walk? You have two legs with nothing wrong with them." Boromir couldn't imagine why; he had spent many a time on his father's shoulders despite his being heavier than Faramir. But for whatever reason, Denethor wouldn't and their mother couldn't, so Boromir held his brother whenever possible.

"Did you slay the dragons?" Faramir asked.

"Of course. I drove my sword right through them, and they cried and cried." Boromir made a pretend dragon scream and Faramir giggled. "All in a day's work, of course," Boromir said proudly.

"Will you take me to see Mother?" Faramir asked. When Boromir hesitated, he started begging. "Please? They won't let me go see her unless I'm with someone older."

Boromir reluctantly agreed. "All right, but it will probably have to be a short visit, you understand?"

"Yes." Faramir rested his head on his brother's shoulder. "Thank you." Boromir smiled and tousled his hair. He took Faramir to their mother's room and, at her insistence, left them alone. As he headed back to his own chambers, he ran into his father.

"What have you been doing, my son?" he asked with a smile.

"Taking Faramir to see Mother," he said. "They wanted to visit with each other."

Denethor had a look his son couldn't place. Confusion? Hurt maybe? "Did she at any point ask for my presence?"

Boromir shook his head. "No. She said she wanted to be alone with Faramir for now, but that I can come visit later when he's been put to bed."

"But she said nothing about me?" Denethor pressed. "Her husband who has looked after her so well?"

Boromir felt a twinge of pity in his heart as he shook his head. "No Father, she did not ask for you."

* * *

Faramir curled up next to Finduilas like a kitten, looking up at her with adoring eyes. His mother had the sweetest, kindest face of anyone in the world, and there was no one- save perhaps Boromir- that Faramir loved more.

"I missed you all day, Mother," he said, closing his eyes and savoring the love in her fingers as they brushed his hair. "Especially this morning." Then he shut his eyes tight as he realized what he'd given away.

Finduilas's fingers stilled. "Why? What happened this morning?"

"Nothing," Faramir said too quickly.

Finduilas pulled him closer and kissed his cheek. "Darling, you know you can tell me anything." When he was quiet, she turned his face to hers. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell Mama."

Faramir buried his face in her chest. "I accidentally wet the bed again."

Finduilas tilted his chin up. "That's all right. The servants can wash the sheet and give you another one."

"I didn't mean to, Mother," he said. "It's been happening every night." Faramir had tried every tactic he could think of, such as not eating or drinking anything right before bed and using the chamber pot first, but nothing worked. Every morning this week, his sheets had been soaked and smelly. And, though he didn't want to worry his mother about it, he knew his father was losing patience with the amount of sheets being washed every day.  _Can you not control yourself,_ he had asked. Faramir had tried, but he apparently couldn't.

Finduilas, however, put him at ease. "Do not worry about it even one little bit, my son. It's a small mess that's easily fixed, and I know you didn't mean it." He smiled and she held him to her. This was what she loved about Faramir; he would just relax in her arms for hours. Boromir would try but eventually get restless and bored. But not his brother. He loved her singing, her stories, everything she had to give him he took with love and adoration. He worshipped her.

She jerked her head up at a tapping on the door. "Just bringing you your medicine, My Lady," the healer said. Finduilas nodded and shifted so she could take it. The healer hurried out, closing the door behind her, and Finduilas held the medicine and pondered whether to take it. She didn't like this kind; it had a habit of making her delirious and much too sleepy, but it would also curb the knot of pain in her abdomen. And of course, it would set a bad example for her young son if he saw her skimping on her medicine. So she took it.

The draught worked its effects in minutes. Finduilas lay back with Faramir, growing more and more relaxed as she held him against her chest. "You want to know a secret, Faramir?" she asked. He looked up, alarmed at her voice. It was slurring and didn't sound entirely like her.

"Yes Mother," he said uncertainly.

"I never really liked your father," Finduilas said. She smiled and was surprised to learn that she felt no shame in saying so. "Nor have I ever liked Minas Tirith. Well, I cared for the tree- goodness knows I cared for it enough and nagged your father about it, but everything else was awful. I missed the sea." She closed her eyes. "Oh, you would have loved it, Faramir. The sea where I lived was beautiful. Clear as crystal, warm in the shallow end and cold in the deep. How I longed for it."

Faramir was puzzled. Why was his mother talking like this? "But Father loves you," he said.

Finduilas laughed a little at that. "Oh, he did that. And my family loved him too. They loved his earnestness, his position, his kingdom, his lineage, and  _especially_ his position. I did not; I was young and he was much older than me and I had no desire to leave my home for his. But in the end it was not up to me."

She began to doze off then, and Faramir thought perhaps he'd stayed too long. Perhaps he should have left when his mother took her medication. It was just that he felt loved when he was with her, and that feeling was difficult to leave. He wondered if she meant all of those things she had said about Father and if she had meant to say them to him. He wasn't entirely sure he even understood all of it.

He would though, in time. Years and years later Faramir would remember that conversation whenever his father was angry with him. He would dredge it up and remember it and he would feel comfort for himself and pity for his father.

Because of all people, Faramir understood the difficulty of loving someone who did not love you back.


	3. Sudden Death

When it was time for Finduilas to eat and Faramir to sleep, it was Boromir who sat at her bedside. She would never say so, but Boromir knew she was relived that he was old enough to understand the gravity of her illness. She did not have to be strong and cheerful for him like she did for Faramir.

She stroked his hair and her eyes were shiny as they looked into his. "I want you to promise me something, my son."

"Anything, Mother," Boromir said, holding her hands.

"Promise me that you'll always look after Faramir. More than his brother, I want you to be his friend. Promise me you'll always love him and won't let anything happen to him."

Boromir bowed his head. "I promise, Mother. You have my word."

She smiled the most tender and loving he'd ever seen. "You make me proud to be your mother." She pulled him close and he bowed his head so she could kiss it. "I could not ask for a better son." She ran her fingers through his hair and they smiled at each other for a minute, but then hers faded. Boromir noticed she was looking at something behind him and turned around. He could just make out a lock of gray hair and a length of dark cape around the corner of the wall.

He closed his eyes.  _Why can Father not allow us even an hour of privacy?_ He felt his mother scoot away from him and he opened his eyes. Her face was distant, and he saw something in it that he did not like.

"Mother?" he whispered. She tilted her head just a little to indicate she'd heard. "Why do you never ask for Father? You ask for Faramir and me all the time, but never him." He thought to suggest that perhaps if she paid him a little more attention, he might not feel the need to hide behind walls and spy on them.

Finduilas opened and closed her mouth a dozen times, and Boromir fought to stay patient and allow her to think her answer through. Unfortunately, he spent the rest of his life wondering what it might have been, because just as she began to speak, the two heard a thud and turned to see Denethor, who had leaned a bit too far in his effort to hear them and lost his balance.

Finduilas glared and began to tremble. "Filthy spy! Get out."

Denethor looked up at her from down on his knees, his eyes pleading. "Dearest Finduilas, please-"

 _"Out!"_ and as she was trembling, her husband and son wasted no time in scrambling to their feet and rushing out the door, which they closed behind them. A few seconds later, they could hear sobs.

"I do not understand," Denethor said, blinking hard. "Why does she despise me so? I have done nothing but attempt to provide her with the very best care." He shook his head hard and Boromir felt tears spring to his own eyes as he threw his arms around his father.

"I am sorry, Father," he said. Denethor stroked his hair.

"My son," he said lovingly, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I cannot thank you enough for your loyalty, for your love for me. You are more precious to me than any other person in this world."

* * *

They were making their way back to their chambers when a flicker of a shadow caught Denethor's eye. He gripped Boromir's shoulder, stopping both of them in their tracks.

"Be on your guard. Someone is skulking about." The servants would all be finished with their work by this hour and the guards did not patrol this part of the palace. Boromir tensed and reached for his sword only to remember that he'd left it in his room. He resisted the urge to clutch his father's arm.

Denethor tread cautiously toward the shadow, which was paused just behind a column. He doubted it was a terrible threat- probably just someone from his staff hoping to sneak some food or jewels, that sort of thing had happened before. Still, he wanted to give the person a good scare. After the day he'd had, he was well in the mood for it.

Boromir stayed where he was, clenching his fists so he would be ready to back his father up if necessary.  _This may be it,_ he thought.  _The moment when all my training is put to use._ He was on his toes, ready to charge, to spring, to pounce on whoever dared intrude upon his family's chambers.

Yet for all his preparation, he still jumped when he heard his father yell.

"You impudent little sneak!" he shouted, and then Boromir winced when he heard a  _crack_ and then a wail that sounded painfully familiar. He rushed toward his father and stopped short, mouth agape, when he saw Faramir clutching his red cheek with tears pouring down his face. At his feet Boromir recognized his latest bed sheet, crumpled and sporting a big wet spot in the middle.

"You thought you could hide this from me," Denethor seethed. "You thought you could soil another sheet and then lie about it?"

"I'm s-s-sorry," Faramir cried. He ran to Boromir, who instinctively scooped him up. Faramir threw his arms around his brother's neck and sobbed.

Denethor turned on him now, and in a voice that sounded braver than he felt, Boromir said, "He didn't mean to, Father. It was an accident."

"Sneaking around my palace in an attempt to hide his misdeed from me was not an accident," Denethor snarled. He snatched Faramir from him and shook him. "Do not ever try to hide anything from me again. I  _will_ catch you and you will be so very sorry."

"I won't," Faramir whimpered. "I won't, I'm sorry."

"What was that?"

"I won't!"

"Father, stop!" Boromir pleaded, who was close to tears himself. "He didn't mean to, all right? He can't help it."

Denethor shot Boromir a glare, but set Faramir down. "You are to go to your room and stay there until I say you may leave it." Faramir just stood there, wiping his eyes and rubbing his sore cheek. "Now!" Denethor shouted.

"Please can I see Mama?" Faramir asked. He hadn't called her that since he was a toddler. "I had a nightmare-"

"No," Denethor said, and Boromir's heart began to pound at his tone. "You may not. Go to your room at once."

Faramir sniffed and Boromir noticed the skin under his eyes was dark. He wondered how tired his little brother was and if he'd slept much at all. Faramir shook his head. "No, I want Mama!" he sobbed.

"If you will not do as I say, I will-" But Faramir darted out from his grasp just as Denethor started to grab him. He took off across the palace hall and Boromir followed him, begging him to stop. He could hear their father shouting behind him and his footsteps getting closer, but being more athletic and in better shape, Boromir caught up with Faramir first. The little lad burst into his mother's room and flung himself at her bed, startling her into wakefulness.

"Faramir, Mother needs to sleep," Boromir said, but Finduilas put a finger to her lips and he was quiet as he too approached her bedside. Faramir was blubbering something he couldn't make out and Finduilas was hugging him, whispering soothing words into his ear.

It would always puzzle Boromir how quickly her entire demeanor seemed to change, for the minute his father entered the room and her eyes fixed on him, she handed Faramir to his brother and became another person entirely.

"Denethor son of Ecthelion!" Everyone in the room jumped. No one had ever heard Finduilas scream like that. Faramir clung to Boromir.

"Is this true?" she asked, and her face was paler than they'd ever seen it, but she was wearing a hard glare. It transformed her. She was shaking and began to rise from her bed and stand up.

Denethor trembled and held up his hands. "Darling please, sit down-"

"Is. It. True?"

Denethor was at a loss for words. Faramir had never seen his father look so helpless. "I, I-"

"You filthy  _scum_." He recoiled as though she had stricken him, and the children held each other as Finduilas advanced on her husband, backing him into a corner. "You never,  _ever_ punish a child for wetting himself. Never!" Her voice was shrill and Denethor winced.

"Sweetheart, please, I never meant to upset you-"

"Upset  _me?_ It matters not what I feel, this is not about me. This is about Faramir. You punished him for what is a natural, basic instinct, and  _he_ is the one you owe a sincere apology. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Tears sprung to her eyes and, having pushed Denethor all the way into the corner, she began to hit his chest with her fist. "How could you? How could you treat your own son so coldly?"

"Mama!" Faramir cried. "Mama, stop!"

Finduilas turned to face him. She appeared to have much more she wanted to say. And there is no doubt she would have said it all, had she not turned whiter than a pillow and collapsed. Faramir screamed, Boromir began crying, and Denethor yelled for healers, who came at once. They tried smelling salts, herbs, and every medicine they could think of.

But it was too late. Finduilas was dead.


	4. Aftermath

The funeral was held the next day. Everyone thought it was too soon, that it was better to let a week or at least a few days pass, but Denethor would not have it. Each bit of resistance he met with only hardened his resolve to bury his wife and bury his grief and be done with it. He would not- could not- think about it anymore.

Nearly everyone in attendance was sobbing, but none more so than Faramir. He was crying so hard he could barely breathe, and when his mother was placed inside the coffin and lowered into the ground, he wailed and ran to the side of the coffin, putting his hands on it and resting his head against it.

"Mama, mama," he said between gasps. "Please come back, Mama."

"Move aside, Faramir," Denethor said. His eyes were dry, but his voice was clipped, as though he were struggling to hold it together. "Whining and carrying on does not bring back the dead."

Faramir wasn't listening. "Mama, I need you. Don't leave me, Mama,  _please_." He was shaking, and when a few attendants tried to pick him up or move him away from the coffin, he screamed. "No! No, I want Mama!"

"Faramir, she's  _gone_ ," Boromir said, his own face tear-stricken. "She's gone and she's not coming back."

"Mama!" Faramir screamed, still reaching his hand out, and Boromir began to break. He took his little brother in his arms and sobbed right along with him. Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they were the last to leave the gravesite.

Denethor was one of the first. He walked through the streets of Minas Tirith and up the hill toward his palace. Because of his dark funeral robes, everyone gave him a wide berth and he was spared the trouble of acquiring guards. He walked up and up until he came to the tree, that barren tree his wife had so loved.

 _What had gone wrong?_ They'd been so happy. He'd loved her more than anything. They'd known each other well for years. She had clearly wished to please him; he could remember how she'd hoped the announcement of their second child would make him happy.

_Their second child._

That was where it had all gone wrong. When her health had begun to decline. When the perfect life they had always shared was shattered. When she'd started to resent him. Everything had been perfect until five years ago. And now, because they'd needlessly had another child, it was ruined.

Denethor resigned himself to stop brooding and carry on with his tasks. He would give his sons a day to grieve and then require them to carry on with theirs. As he strode back into the palace, he found there was peace in realizing the cause of Finduilas's death.

It had all been because of Faramir. Faramir and her age at the time of carrying him and cruel fate. But nothing, nothing at all to do with him. He was blameless.


End file.
